


never go marching home

by yakyuu_yarou



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Murder, Original Character Death(s), Spoilers for Death To The Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22869538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakyuu_yarou/pseuds/yakyuu_yarou
Summary: Jonny d‘Ville dies. This is how that goes.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 102
Collections: Stowaways' Shenanigans





	never go marching home

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say, I wanted pain ... and then I mostly just had fun. Jonny is fun!  
> Thanks to RektedBeck for beta-ing this, and thank you all for reading 💙

The moment it happens, Jonny can tell that this is different, that this is _it_.It isn‘t that it‘s a different pain to that of the last eternity — it‘s more that he _knows,_ in a place that isn‘t his heart or his bones or the shrivelled shreds of his soul, that this is his own personal final performance.

His grin widens, sharpens, goes from razors that glint in the bar‘s shitty lighting to too-many-to-fit, too-jagged-to-be-real. The kid, whose laser knife is currently embedded between his ribs, lets out a choked sound of animal fear when Jonny doesn‘t stop grinning. He starts to laugh, harder than he has in a thousand years at least, a new note of manic delight and excitement creeping in alongside the cruel joy that has defined it for millenia-minutes-never. He‘s laughing with his mouth open wide, laughing so hard he‘s shaking, and the motion makes the kid‘s wrist jerk wildly, driving the weapon deeper into his chest. Now it‘s not just _in_ his heart but _through_ it, resilient mechanical thing that it is-was-won‘t be anymore. He snarls, and it‘s somehow still a joyful sound, and he raises his gun to the kid‘s chest, mirroring the spot where a laser blade is buried in his own. He pulls the trigger, in a moment of perfect, deafening, silent intimacy, in the middle of a bar fight like any other (and yet, not so).

The kid lets go of the blade and drops to the ground, dying still but already limp and soulless. The blade stays in his chest as Jonny contemplates kicking the body for fun good measure. Instead he lets loose another knife-edged laugh and barks out a quick „good riddance, fuckhead“ before he steps over the corpse and back into the maelstrom of uninhibited violence that makes his insides sing and feeds the dark, immortal bits of him (and if the words sound a little affectionate — well, he _is_ dying).

It feels different, he decides, as he shoots someone‘s head very messily off her broken shoulders. His laughter is a little strained now, his breaths might be laboured, too — he can‘t quite tell. Jonny hasn‘t bothered to remove the knife from his chest as something of a final experiment in how much his expiring body can take. Enough for him to rip every single sad simpering soul in this backwater joint to unrecognisable pieces, it turns out.

He briefly wishes that Ashes was here to burn the place once he‘s done with it and done for, but really, he considers idly as he shoves a broken whiskey bottle into some old bastard‘s stomach, leaving a monument to himself might be fun. Maybe at some other point in time, someone will find it … inspiring. So, better they‘re not around for this one.

Eventually, the last of the fuckers that thought an injured Jonny d‘Ville would make an easier target than a non-injured one have paid for their idiocy — in blood, in gore, in bone, and with their lives. He doesn‘t know if anyone‘s managed to run, but he also doesn‘t think he cares — again, it‘ll be a monument to him, in a way.

In the silence, the stillness, Jonny pauses and wonders what to do next. He considers trying to make it home to the Aurora to die among the others, but it doesn‘t feel right. Just doesn‘t feel like _him_ , really. He ponders going somewhere else and continuing his final massacre until he drops, but that‘d just make all this less impactful as a story, so it‘s another no.

Before he can get to the next option, whatever it could have been, Jonny feels his heart stutter _hard_. He lets out a surprised-delighted-tired _hah!,_ reaches up to rip the knife from his chest at last, and places his gun on his own chest. He carelessly drops the thing that killed him, allows himself another luxuriant glance around the room, over his last masterpiece of violence in all its bloody, broken beauty — and then he pulls the trigger.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [never go marching home [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24411553) by [KD reads (KDHeart)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDHeart/pseuds/KD%20reads)




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